Assassin's Creed: Revolution
by SGarrison
Summary: A young boy looses his father to the British, and is revealed his family's secret. He is an Assassin. With his blade and skill, he will alter history and will pave the way for a successful revolution. M for blood and language.
1. Prologue

Based on the game Assassin's Creed...

**Assassin's Creed: Revolution**

**Prologue**

The British camp was stationed in Canada, consisting of five hundred men. They were placed there as an obstacle, should the rebelling colonists try and launch another attack on Canada. Though the camp was small, the soldiers were elite. Besides; they were just there to merely slow down an American force, giving time for a larger British force to arrive and finish the job.

A guard, standing at the edge of camp, held his musket tightly. It was fairly cold. He knew winter would soon arrive; bringing with it sickness, cold, snow, ice, maybe some death. But his camp was supplied. They had plenty of food, clothes, medical supplies even. The Revolution would be easy to win. Even though they had been fighting for three years, there was only so much a group of makeshift soldiers could do. They would break. It was just a matter of when and how.

"James," a voice whispered to the guard.

James turned to see a young soldier, fully dressed, holding his gun, "It's my shift."

"Oh, yes, indeed. Take care, Grant," James said with a nod, walking past the young man to his tent. A _thud! _caused him to turn his head sharply in the direction of the other soldier.

He was on the ground, unmoving. His chest did not rise and fall as if he were breathing. A lone, hooded figure stood over the body, not even armed it appeared. James could not see well through the dark. The person's face was concealed in shadow under the hood, and anything attached to him - weapon or no - remained unseen.

James gasped, his eyes growing wide, "You... you monster! You killed him!" he cried, making his voice very loud on purpose. In fact, he pretty much screamed it at the top of his lungs.

"Your life is mine, too," he muttered in a solemn tone, drawing a short sword, glinting in the faint moonlight, revealing the red liquid on the end of the dangerous blade.

James yelled and raised his musket, pulling it past half cock. He never had time to pull the trigger. The man lunged and drove the ice cold blade into his abdomen. James gasped, feeling as if though the wind had been knocked out of him. He felt the blade in him, and then a sharp, terrible pain that made him scared. Scared of death.

"Nothing personal," the assailant told him, shoving the dieing British soldier off of his blade.

James gasped and gagged, a tear falling down his cheek. He might die. No, he would. He tried to scream, but made only a pathetic groan instead. He tried to grab the killer, but was too slow and missed. By now, other soldiers were waking up and yelling. One ran over and saw the two bodies and the hooded figure and started calling more soldiers over.

James saw the killer slice his head clean off, and then he started to feel sick, and then dizzy. He did not know how much time had passed. It may have just been minutes, but realizing his hopeless situation, every single second was an agonizing year to James. He heard screams and gunshots and blades smashing into each other. He could not help them. His stomach was hurting, and he was feeling lightheaded. His vision blurred, and that was it. He had died.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1: Crow's Nest Danger**

The thirteen year old boy, Terrance Miles, was in his room, asleep. Dawn crept into his room, his shaded windows slightly holding back the light. The boy was fast asleep. He had slightly tan skin, with dark and long, wavy hair. He had a slight athletic build, helping his father landscape their forty acre property, running errands for his mom, cleaning around the house, and even fighting with mean kids his age. His dark brown eyes were covered by his shut eyelids in his sleep.

Someone knocked softly on his wooden door. Terrance grunted, rolling over, facing the harsh light entering his room. It was getting chilly throughout his house with stone floors, and his bed was nice and warm. The knocking came again, and the boy rolled over to face the door.

"Son, your mother needs you to go to town for her, again. Hurry." his father's voice ordered. He heard the man's boots _clunk_ on the ground as he left.

The teen groaned and sat up, rubbing his sleepy eyes. He rolled lazily out of bed and approached his closet, his feet uncomfortable and cold on the stone floor. He dressed into his work clothes and left his room, walking down a hall and into the main dining room where a grand oak table took up much space. There was a fire place at one end, and an archway leading into the entrance. He walked through to see his mom standing by the front door, counting money in her hand.

"Mother, what is it you need me for?" he asked curiously, his voice still croaking and groggy.

"I need you to run to Ginger's and grab four bags of tea. My friend is coming over for a short visit, and we are all out. I need you to hurry back." she explained.

"Alright, mother," he agreed, holding out his hand.

She placed the money in his palms. He looked down at it, curiously.

Six pounds? Surely this was not the case! He counted, just to make sure. But he had been to school. There lay six pounds before him. He looked up at her, raising an eyebrow.

"Mother, there are six pounds her." he informed her.

"I know, it's about a pound and twenty pence. Plus tax it's about two pounds per bag." she explained.

"That is a lot!" he exclaimed with a gasp.

"Now you see why your father and I complain about our parliament and all of these outlandish taxes. Now hurry, my friend could be here at any time, Terrance," she said, finishing off a bit sternly.

"Yes, ma'am."

Terrance left the house and entered the stables his father had built years ago. Terrance had helped improve it not too long ago, to make it look better. He got his brown horse, Amber, and took off, leaving his forty acre property, heading down a long dirt path to down. The chill wind rushing past the boy made him feel more awake and alive as he rode.

He rode more slowly through crowded streets and to a stable. A friend of his father's worked there, and they were allowed to keep their horses there for free for a short period of time.

"Ah, Terrance, my boy, how do you do? Do you need to keep Amber here for awhile?" a large, plump man asked. He was seated in the stables on a bench, sipping a cup of hot water.

"Yes sir," Miles replied, hopping off of his horse and leading her over to the man.

"Good, I will take care of her for now. Don't be long though, or else it will cost you some money." he said with a little chuckle.

"Yes sir, it will not be long. I just have to pick up some tea for my mother." he said earnestly.

"Ah, tea. Quite a pricey thing to be wanting. Very well, off you go." he said, waving him away.

Terrance took off, dashing out of the stables and into the crowded streets of Boston. He walked past house after store, smells, sounds, and sights of all sorts passing him as he weaved through the many people, hurrying to get to Ginger's, a tea store. He made it finally, coming upon a small shack not too far from the docks. He knocked lightly and entered, looking around.

It was a shady and dim-lit place, shelves loaded with different types of tea and some little tea cups, mugs, and so on. At one corner sat an old lady, smoking away on a cigar.

She took a long draw from the cigar and blew out calmly, "How may I help you, young man?" she asked nonchalantly, her voice quiet and gruff.

Oh no, his mom did not tell him what type of tea to buy. He thought for a moment. If she wanted a certain flavor, she unfortunately was not getting it that day.

Terrance let out a long sigh and continued to answer the old lady, "My mother needs some tea for today. What's the standard, average tea you have?" he asked her, with uncertainty in his voice.

"Ah, the shelf by the door on top has some. Get how much you need and then give the money to me," she told him flatly, eyeing him with interest.

"Yes ma'am," the boy muttered, turning to face to top shelf by the door.

He reached over and picked up four small bags full of crushed tea. They smelled great, even though other bags around the store smelled better. He reached in his pocket and pulled out his money and then approached the counter, setting down the bags, counting his money once more.

"Is that all?" she asked slowly, taking another draw of the smelly cigar.

"Yes ma'am, it is." he replied swiftly.

"That'll be six and seventeen pence." she told him.

Terrance counted the appropriate amount and handed it to her. She took the money in her hand, counted it herself, and then nodded, shooing him away as if he were just a rat.

The boy tucked the tea in his pockets and the remaining money, and strode out the door, breaking into a sprint towards the stables. He dodged the crowd nimbly, causing a few people to gasp when they thought they were going to collide with him.

"Slow down!" and old man cried as the running child skipped around him with light footfall.

Terrance reached the stables. The man was nowhere in sight, so he opened the stall where Amber was, and got on her, getting her to back out. He got off and shut the gate. He made sure the man was not around the corner, because his mom always insisted he thanked the stable owner for allowing his family to keep their horses there for little to no price. Seeing that he was not, he got back on his trusty steed and went back into the streets, not going fast until he was back on his country road.

He road the last few miles quickly and brought his horse to her stall. He unsaddled her, petted her head, locked her in, and ran inside, his run feeling weird after just exiting the saddle. He knocked three times and opened up. His mom was in the kitchen, setting out breakfast. His father was helping himself to a plate full.

"Terrance, your back. Good; now where's the tea?" his mother asked normally.

"I have it." he said with a grin, handing her the four bags.

"Good."

"Terrance, once you get done eating I need you to bring some fire wood in, and then you may have some time in down." his father told him.

"Charles, don't you think town might not be the best place for him to be wandering around?" his mom asked.

"Nonsense, he can take care of himself as long as he stays out of trouble. Besides, it will give you and your friend some time, I can read some, and we can let our son have a look around," he turned his gaze to Terrance, "Right, my boy?" Charles, his dad, asked, beckoning him to answer.

"Yes ma'am, I'll just have a look around is all. I like going into town." he told her with bright eyes. Yes! He would get some free time! This was a bit unusual, but the last thing he wanted to do was complain or spoil this chance.

---

His mom had told him not to go to the docks in town, for fear he might drown or something like that, but Terrance went anyways. He liked to watch the seamen and the ships and they left or entered the harbor. He sat on a bench and watched the scene for several minutes. Burly men carrying crates and boxes hustled past. People went their own way, to shops or to home. Terrance even saw a slave ship getting resupplied.

He saw one empty Frigate floating in the water by the dock nearest to him. It's crew were not going back and forth, and Terrance was dieing to climb the rigging up to the crow's nest. He remembered his mom warning him, but he had to. He would just climb up, have a quick look from that high up, and leave as if nothing happened. The ship seemed void of life, so who was he hurting?

He sat up, stretched, and discreetly walked to the gangplank. Looking around to make sure no one was watching, he got on to the main deck. Lines of ropes were every where, stretching up high to the masts and back. The white sails were furled neatly, and it seemed very adventurous and inviting.

The excited young teen climbed on to the rigging, it swaying lightly as he climbed it with little effort.

He reached a mid-way point, where he had to climb onto another rigging. He did this with some nervousness, not wanting to be seen. He reached the top, where the crow's nest was. A flag pole was up a few more feet, the British flag fluttering lightly. He climbed into the 'basket' of sorts and looked down at his surroundings. He could see his ship far below, and a lot of the town. Buildings were small and like a model. People looked like ants. He grinned, mentally patting his shoulder for the idea. He had done nothing wrong. He could go now, and just mention it to no one.

"Kid! What in the name of Christ are you doing on my ship?!" he heard an alarmed voice call out.

He looked down with a start to see the captain of the vessel in full uniform, starting up the rigging. He had a sword sheathed on his belt, and Terrance was scared. Following the captain were two soldiers in their red uniforms, muskets strapped to their back. Terrance panicked, not knowing what to do or where to go. He felt like crying. He should have just listened to his mother!

"Get down from there or I'll make you!" the captain cried, reaching the second rigging.

Terrance grimaced and looked down, seeing the long wooden part of the mask that held the furled sails. He climbed out of the crow's nest and put his feet down there. The ship's light rocking in the water made balance hard for the teen. He waved his arms frantically, hoping not to fall. He heard a soldier shout, and he knew he would have to keep going. He took a few tentative steps at first towards the end, trying his hardest not to fall.

He got a bit used to the swaying, and managed to reach the end. Gosh, he was so high up! He crawled down, holding on now only by his hands; his legs dangled loosely below him.

"Bloody hell; stop before you hurt yourself, son!" a soldier cried.

Terrance was holding on for dear life, the other wooden bar seeming so far below him. Looking up to see the captain reaching the crow's nest, he realized he would have to do it, or go with that man and get in serious trouble. He looked down, planned his fall carefully, hesitated, and then let go.

He landed on his feet painfully hard, and he staggered, starting to lean to far forward. He cried out and crouched down quickly, regaining his balance. He made his way to the rigging at the halfway point, and quickly climbed the rest of the way down.

He took off, jumping over the long gang plank entirely, hearing the captain's shouts loud and clear behind him. He ran off the docks, ran past a confused soldier, and snaked through the crowded streets full of people as fast as his legs could carry him. His breath was heavy and uneven, and he was scared for his life.

He got his horse from the stable, thanked the man, and left, hurrying out of Boston and to the safety of his home. He would have to enter calmly, and act as if nothing happened.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: The Boston Massacre**

"Back so soon, Terrance?" his father asked him with an amused smile as he put Amber away, petting her head.

"Yes sir. I looked around some and didn't see much of interest." he lied as best as he could.

"Your mother's friend is still in there, so stay out here some and help me cut some more wood." his father offered, leaving only one option.

"Yes sir."

---

Two years later. March had just come, helping warm after the unusually harsh and cold February and January. Terrance was a fourteen year old, his Birthday in April. His father said upon reaching fifteen, he would be a young man, and he would take him hunting. He was going to take him hunting earlier, but the thought of killing something scared the young boy to death. So Charles waited patiently until April.

"Terrance, my boy, we need some more salt. Go to town and get us some more candles. The money is on the dining table." his dad told him March fifth, as Terrance finished riding around Amber through the light snow.

"But father, I've just finished riding my horse. She'll be too tired!" he protested.

"Take mine then."

When Terrance walked outside, he was shocked to feel a sudden blast of cold air. The snow was falling down harder than earlier. He ran back inside quickly and threw on an extra coat, going back out to the stables.

So he took his dad's horse, Dusty, and rode him to town. He was old with a grey coat, unusual, and he was giant in size. It was not the first time Terrance had rode him, so after a few minutes, he was riding smooth. Along the way, he met his friend, Grant Fredman, who was riding his horse by his dad.

"Hi there, Terrance!" he greeted, giving a little wave of his hand.

"Hello there!" he heard his father say as well.

"Hey there. Where are you both heading?" he asked with pleasant surprise.

"We're going to town to protest a tax collector. Without England even saying so, he raised tax on tea. And then he holed up in his office and stationed soldiers outside. Do you wish to join us?" he offered him with a warm smile, pulling his tricorn hat down further.

"Well, I was sent some candles, but I suppose a few minutes would not hurt." he answered, following them down town through cobblestone streets.

They came upon a small, four story brick building with large windows, the shutters down behind them. Two rows of British soldiers were arranged outside, their muskets at the ready. Terrance swallowed a sudden lump in his throat. A large crowd had formed around them, shouting up a storm. The soldiers looked unsure.

"Get the hell out!" someone roared.

"Yeah! We'll knock the bloody snot out of you!" an old man yelled.

"Raise taxes one more time, I dare you!" a free negro cried, waving his fists around threateningly.

"Oh, things are heating up, pa!" Grant told his father, shifting uncomfortable.

"Yes, but don't worry, it's not like they'll shoot at us. They can't!" his father reassured them, dismounting his horse and entering the mob.

Terrance and Grant followed suit, pushing through the crowd to get a good view. He looked over to see a middle aged man make a snow ball and hurl it at the soldiers. Someone laughed and followed suit. Soon the soldiers were being pelted by snow balls.

Someone took the whole thing to the next level. They grabbed a fallen shard of ice that had fallen from the eaves of the surrounding buildings, and pelted a young soldier with it, who grunted in obvious pain. Terrance was frightened now. Grant's father had said the soldiers would not shoot, but how could he be so sure.

Someone else threw ice. Another person slugged a few coins at them, stinging the soldier's cold skin.

The coin thrower shouted, "There! You want out money! Take it!"

"Disperse!" a soldier barked.

"Oh, I think the men are scared!" the negro shouted.

A soldier was knocked over as a shard of ice hit him below the eye. The person on the row behind him cried out and lowered his gun, shooting it in his sheer panic, thinking his friend in front of him had been killed or seriously injured.

Some let out a gut wrenching cry as they doubled over, their stomach blown open, blood pouring out of the open wound. They groaned and begged for help, rolling on the ground.

Terrance yelled, ducking as several more British soldiers opened fire. He heard some other people screaming and shouting, begging for mercy. Several people were turning around and running. Terrance did not know where Grant was or his father. He looked up to see the negro crawling towards him, gagging, his throat shot right through the middle.

"Oh my God..." the teen muttered aghast.

"He...hel..." were the only sounds of Crispus Attacks as he gave his last desperate breath.

Terrance rolled over on his backside and started to desperately crawl backwards, hearing yet another volley go off, and some more screams. He saw the soldiers who had shot into the colonists, still confused and disarrayed.

"Hold fire! Hold fire!" their leader was shouting loudly.

"I've killed one!" a young one was mumbling just barely coherently.

Terrance stood up, his legs shaking. He was running for Dusty, his heart pounding and his stomach grumbling. He managed to climb on to Dusty, riding away. He did not care about candles. He just wanted to go home. He wanted to go home and cry, cuddle up in his bed and just bawl. The brisk wind smacked against his face as he rode, but he barely noticed it. The image of the dieing black man was burned into his brain, how one hand helplessly clutched the gory throat, and how the other reached for Terrance, trying to get him to help.

It was all too gruesome. He rode to the stables, unsaddled the horse and locked him in, and tramped over to the front door, knocking weakly.

"Ah, Terrance, you're back, hun! You got the can-" his mom was cut off, seeing her son with tears streaming down his face.

"My God, what is it?" she asked bewilderedly, not having seen her son crying since he was nine.

"They shot 'em mom... they shot at the people! They killed 'em!" he wailed, his crying more severe now.

"Oh lord! Come inside, quickly, I'll warm you up something, don't you worry!"

"Mom, he died right in front of me, an' I couldn't do anything!" he sobbed, falling to his knees, the scene playing over and over in his mind.

"Who died, Terrance?" she asked unsure.

"A negro! He got shot right through the throat!" he told her, trying to wipe his eyes clean.

"Was it an execution?" she asked more calmly.

"No, there was this crowd in front of a tax c-collectors office, and they were throwin' things at the soldiers, and then the soldiers started shootin' and shootin', and everyone screamed, and... and..." he explained, unable to finish because another crying attack came back.

"Oh my lord, British troops?"

"Ye-yes ma'am," he mumbled.

"What's going on here?" his father asked, frowning at the pathetic sight of his son and crouching mother, "Why are you crying, Terrance?"

"Take a seat at the dining table, son, I'll make you something right quick," she ordered him kindly, ushering him away. She stood up and approached Charles, "A mob of people were throwing things at some soldiers protecting a tax collector or something, and the soldiers shot into the crowd. Terrance said a man died right in front of him." she said quietly, filling him on everything she had been told.

"Dang, that's terrible. I'll go talk to him."


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: The Brotherhood**

Terrance did not sleep easy. For the next three years, he was a lot less out going. He only crept on the dock once more, but he only climbed a small sloop, and nothing more. He still did run errands and help his dad when he was not at work at the press. He got little sleep, his rest full of nightmares. He saw the man with the bloody stomach, or Crispus Attacks clutching his throat, dieing. He did not talk to Grant much afterwards. Life was fairly dull.

On one windy december night, his family sat around by the fire place, looking at the crackling flames. His father was smoking a pipe of tobacco, and his mom was reading the bible. It was too quiet. Terrance shuddered at the idea of going outside into the cold.

"Have you thought of a job, son?" his father asked.

"No sir. Nothing has caught my eye since that black smith last year, but I cannot work with metal well. I could get a job on a ranch. The Pettersons have a big one with lots of horses and cows. I don't think they'd pay a whole lot, though." he answered.

"It does not matter if you get paid a lot. It just matters if you get paid. It's a start. Most boys already have jobs, and I will not be the rich dad to spoil his child and just supply him with everything."

"Yes sir. In fact, I think I'll talk to the Pettersons tomorrow." he offered, adjusting to a more comfortable sitting position.

Someone knocked frantically on the door. Charles wasted no time answering up to see Grant's dad standing there in the snow.

"Charles, I wanted to know if you wished to come along." he told him briskly.

"Along for what?" his dad asked, confused.

"We're going to give King George a nice little surprise. The British have docked a tea ship in the harbor, and we're going to go dump all that over priced tea straight into the water, and show him what we think of his bloody taxes." he explained, stepping in out of the cold.

"I don't know. I guess I should." Charles mused.

"If you can, come over to my place. We're dressing as Indians." he told him, snickering.

"Indians, will that not provoke the soldiers to shoot us?" he gasped.

"No, no. We will sneak over there. If they see us, we run. They'll never notice who we are."

"Alright, let me tell my family."

---

The whole thing was a success. Because of the Boston Massacre - as people were calling it - Terrance could not go. Basically, his dad and hundreds of others boarded tea ships and dumped barrel after barrel full of tea. The harbor was a sickish color that next morning, and his dad laughed as he told them about what happened.

Also that day, Terrance was hired by the Pettersons at their ranch. He got chance to work with lots of animals which was good. He enjoyed his first day.

The next year a secret meeting was held between some town leaders. Terrance did not know what went on, but a lot of talk around town was about rebelling, and it seemed weird. Terrance had always considered himself British even though the colonies were taxed a lot. But he had been there when five innocents had been shot. But they were also throwing things at the British. But to kill people because they were hurting you? Was it right or wrong?

---

He was hiding behind a rock, his breath heavy. Terrance had joined his dad on something he thought would be exciting. The colonists actually were planning revolution. Somewhere in Concord they had stashed weapons had gun powder and ammunition. Also, two leaders were there. Britain had found out, and were advancing to Concord.

Minute men intercepted them. Shots were fired, and it sent the militia into hiding. But because of their distraction, supplies had been moved to another location. England's soldiers were coming back to Lexington, and Terrance and his dad, Charles, went to go help out. Terrance received ammunition and powder, a hunting rifle, and a mother's good bye kiss. He was excited. Life had been dull since the shots in Boston, and now he could get back at the soldiers. It was going to be fun.

He was wrong. Completely, utterly, wrong. Rows and rows of red coats were marching back, stepping in unison. The ground shook with their march. Terrance hid, ready to fire. When the red coats started passing, a shot rang out from the trees. Then several followed.

Terrance took aim and fired, the gun slamming back into his shoulder painfully hard. He missed the mark surprisingly enough, but that was not going to stop him.

His heart beating a thousand beats a minute, he reloaded a bt clumsily, not having done it much. He took aim once more and pulled the trigger, sending a soldier sprawling onto the ground with a shout. It felt strange. He had just killed another human. He did not reload right off of the bat, feeling a bit odd. He had killed that man. That living, breathing man.

"Terrance, move!" he heard his dad shout.

He looked down to see at least ten red coats moving in on his position. He jumped up and ran into the woods for cover, reloading his gun as fast as he could. He was ramming everything down into the barrel when he heard a cry for help. He saw a British soldier diving his bayonet into a militia man. The colonist yelled and gasped as the blade was yanked from his body. Terrance was frightened. What if that soldier saw him and killed him?

He finished reloading, and he pulled the hammer back, pointing his gun around the corner, where the same soldier was looking around. Terrance took careful aim, and pulled the trigger.

A plume of smoke left his gun, and the soldier was blown back. He twitched for a few seconds, but he was dead for sure.

_Okay, good. He's dead, don't worry. He'd have killed you. Alright, move on before they find you... _He told himself, crawling further along the road, being sure to stay covered. Shots were ringing in his ears, and the air was full of smoke. He heard a few screams mixed in, which worried him. Which screams were from his guys? Every plea for help was yelled in an English accent. He spoke in an English accent. The colonists spoke in an English accent. The English spoke in an English accent. They were the same, yet they were shooting at each other.

Terrance stopped crawling and took a few minutes to reload. He looked back down on the road to see a few British bodies lying there, and soldiers stepping over them, firing into the brush around them helplessly as they were picked off one by one. Terrance lowered his gun and fired, nailing one in the head. A lucky, clean shot. The man doubled over and ceased to breathe.

His father ran up to him as he reloaded his gun, "Are you okay?" he asked in a worried tone.

"Yes sir, I've shot two men already."

"Good job, son. Hurry along or you'll fall behind. Go ahead and run. Listen, we're really-" he was cut off abruptly.

For the rest of Terrance's life, he will always remember what happened after that. There was this_ squish_ sound. His father's jaw dropped. Terrance looked down to see a bayonet protruding from his dad's body, blood seeping down his stomach.

"F-father...?"

The blade was ripped out, and his dad slumped backwards, revealing a tall British officer, who leveled his sights on Terrance, "Make one move boy, and I blow your damn head off."

"P-pl-please... no... no..." he mumbled.

He knew what was in his pocket. A knife. But if he reached to get it, his head would be blown off. And if he reached to help his dad, his head was still blown off anyway. He waited for certain death.

"Come with me." the officer ordered.

A shot rang out, and the officer staggered, and fell. His side was bloody and messed up. Terrance looked up to see a colonist sneaking away through the trees, smoke coming from his rifle.

He looked down at his father, who stared back, "Father, father no!" Terrance exclaimed, leaning in closer on the verge of tears.

"Do not worry, my son. It was bound to happen... listen, you need to keep up with everyone. Leave me here. I'll only slow you down." he told him in weak breaths.

"No. No! I will not leave you here!"

"You'll die if you stay, and I d-don't want you to die. Listen, go home and tell your mother. Go into my room and look under our bed. There is a small chest. It will have a note from your dead grand father. Read it and take the things from the box. Please, my son. Pl-plea..."

He gave his last breath.

"No!" Terrance cried, tears now falling freely down his face.

His father's eyes gazed at him with an empty, strange look. Terrance closed both of his eyes with trembling hands, took his dad's gun and hat, and took off running in the direction of the gun shots once more, still crying.

---

His mom was shaken. She sat in the kitchen, letting her tears fall. She wailed and moaned and prayed. Terrance left her alone after attempting to comfort her, entering his parent's room solemnly.

There was a large bed with a large blanket to match. It had rugged floors and a stone wall.

He peered under the bed, and saw a small chest as promised. He pulled it free and opened it. Dust blew out, and Terrance could not help but to cough for a moment and sneeze a bit.

On top of some sort of cloth, he saw a sealed envelope. It's seal was some triangular figure. Not exactly a coat of arms or anything. It probably represented the Miles family. He peeled it open gingerly and unfolded the parchment within.

It read:

_January 13, Seventeen hundred._

_I write this for Charles and following generations. If you've opened this, you are going to learn something. It is what this family is. If you follow to do this, you will master the art of the kill. The Miles family has had several names, but since it's beginning just about, and the beginning of the Brotherhood, we have been Assassins._

_Whoever is reading this might find this a shock. I, myself, was once an assassin. I battled pirates on the water, and tried to perfect my skills and help for a better tomorrow. Like my father said before me, the death of few to save thousands. This statement is true, and is the foundation of the brotherhood. In this new world some call the 'Americas'; the future is uncertain. Fights for the land take place, and chaos ensues. If you are reading this, something is indeed wrong._

_To be an Assassin, you must fight and sacrifice for something important. Something that will help make the world better. You must not be afraid to kill by any means. In this chest, there are weapons and an ancient garment. Don these with revelry, and familiarize yourself with the weapons. Learn to climb well, and to be fast, silent, and lethal. I do not know what time the reader may be in, so there in not much I can do to train you. It will be up to the reader if they wish to proceed. Just do not, for any reason, fear death. And do not fear giving it._

_Kill in the name of good, although it is a sinful act. Do it efficiently, and take control of your environment. Hide amongst the people, or hide amongst the shadows. Stay strong. There are not many hide outs for assassins in the new world. One in Boston, another in the swamplands of the Carolinas, another in New York, and another in Pennsylvania. Use these hide outs to your advantage. They will be marked with the same seal on the envelope._

_Remember, never fear death._

_-Freeman Miles_

So that was it. He was an 'assassin'? Why didn't his father tell him earlier? And did that mean his father had been a lethal killer?

He set the letter down on the floor, and took out the clothes. Some sort of hooded tunic. There was a pair of gray baggy pants meant to be tucked under a pair of boots, a cape, long boots, and a belt.

He changed into it, and looked back in for the weapons the letter had mentioned. There was a pair of silver gauntlets, so he put them on. They had some funny things on them, around the palms. He squeezed.

_Click! _a blade shot out.

He gasped, not expecting that. He squeezed again, and it slid back in just as fast. He tried the other hand, getting the same results. There was a bandolier, and he slipped that on, tightening it appropriately. He tucked some little knives into it near the chest, and then found another sheath for a short sword, which he strapped to his back. The short sword there. He needed a longer blade. He looked back under the bed, and pulled out a sheathed cutlass. It fitted perfectly into the bandoleer. Some more little knives were in the box, which he found a few places for on his boots. Finally, there was the flintlock pistol, along with powder and ammunition. He found places for that as well.

He slipped the hood over his head, and stood up. He felt a bit odd, looking himself over. Did his dad ever wear this?

"Terrance?"

He shot around to see his mom standing there with red eyes, sniffing a little bit.

"Mother, father told me to find this under his bed. I was not-"

"I know. He never would wear it. He said he never did have any reason. If he had not of died back there, he would be dressing in that. I guess he sent you." she mumbled.

"Mother, the letter there told me to go help. I... I don't know if you wished for me to leave you alone. I was just trying it." he explained.

"Listen, Terrance, I understand. I don't want you to die, but out family has been doing this for generations in the past. I guess it finally caught up with you. Just be careful, will you?" she asked, wiping away some stray tears.

"Mother, if you wish, I could just stay here." he offered.

"No, go. You were probably bound to do this with the talk of revolution going around. Just be safe." she protested.

"Yes ma'am. If you don't mind, I will practice my climbing on the house." he told her.

"Why are you going to climb the house?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"It told me to train, and I figure I may need it in case I have to run away. If there was no ladder around, I could elude my enemies."

His mom shuddered at the thought of her son running from 'enemies'. She nodded, hugged him, and left.

* * *

**A/N: **How is it so far? I pop out these chapters fairly fast, but make no mistake, I work hard on them. Anyways, I've been thinking about this story, and to put it in the revolution seemed fitting. Ezio was an assassin roughly four hundred years after Altair, and so Terrance could be one roughly four hundred years after that. Anyways, I hope you like this story. I have a lot planned for this one, including a bit of romance, which I've never done before.

Let's just see what happens, I guess.

-Sam


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: New Killer**

So there he was, in the strangest situation of his life. Terrance had joined his father in ambushing the British, thinking it would be fun. No - adventurous and exciting. Like when he played army with Grant as a little kid. But with killing, and his dad's death, he learned his lesson, and he learned it fast. So now he apparently was supposed to be a skilled assassin meant to save many. So he climbed to the roof of his house and down on all sides, practicing grabbing onto anything that would allow him to climb. He found it was fairly easy with a few close calls; which were easily fixed with some pluck. He swung his sword around a few times, getting used to that, and practiced throwing those little knives he had been supplied with. Now that was hard. He almost always missed the mark.

But, after practicing until night fall, he said a final good bye to his mom, who gave him some food for his journey, and then he left on Amber, his horse. It was dark and cold out, so he rode a bit faster than usual. Okay, so if a so called 'hide out' were in Boston, he would have to find it. Because, quite frankly, he had no clue what he was supposed to be doing. Killing British soldiers? That would end sourly. Perhaps he would kill leaders or something. Oh well, the hide out would shed some light. If there were people there. People meaning fellow assassins. He would not want to find it a British base or a bakery or something like that.

He was allowed to keep his horse at the stable as always. He then went onto the streets, looking for a building with the strange triangular shape on it. Thankfully, there were few people out, so he could inspect some buildings of interest closer without causing suspicion.

"You there!" a voice called out into the silent night.

Terrance looked around, coming to rest his eyes on a British guard, who was walking towards him, his gun in his hands. Terrance frowned, not expecting trouble so soon. Perhaps it was unwise to wear these garments in town, especially when they looked so outlandish and threatening.

"How may I help you?" he asked, trying to keep his cool.

"You've got a lot of weapons on you sir, and no badge anywhere. You can help me by coming back to my ship and answering a few questions." he spat.

Oh crap. He looked like a rebelling colonist, loaded up on weapons. He could not go back with this soldier though. Then came the question. Should he kill this man as a start? He probably shouldn't, seeing as he was only doing his job to be suspicious. Also, if anyone were to find the body, or realize he went missing, it could put guards on high alert. Leave him alive, and it could just cause more suspicion amongst the guards. Then again, who would believe him? It's late at night, and he finds a hooded man with every sort of weapon imaginable strapped on his person? Yeah, he was safest just leaving him on earth.

"'Fraid I can't do that," Terrance told him flatly, hiding in his nervousness.

"Alrighty then," the soldier growled, "I can shoot you instead!" he exclaimed, pulling his gun off of his back.

Okay, so climbing time it was. Terrance turned towards the nearest two story building, full of windows. He sprinted to it, hearing the guard shout something. He jumped up on the low overhang by the front door, pulling himself up with minor difficulty. He heard a gun shot, and he knew he had to pick up the pace. He latched onto the nearest window, darkness on the inside, and put his feet down at the bottom, and his hands clinging onto the top. He heard other shouts, and obviously, more guards were on their way. He had to pick up his pace.

He put his feet on the cross shaped wood that held the small panes of glass in the window, and then brough his hands up to the roof's edge. He kicked off with his feet and pulled hard, lifting himself onto the roof. Alright, so he had climbed the first building fairly easily. He would just have to be quicker next time. He looked around and saw an equally high building to his left, so he got a running start, and jumped, landing just barely on the roof.

He kept this up for about ten more buildings until the guards' shouting had ceased. He then looked around through the darkness, squinting his eyes. He could not find the hide out. Maybe it was closer to the docks.

He jumped onto the roof of a one-story bakery, landing painfully on his feet, causing him to topple over. He groaned, getting back onto his feet. Dang it, this was harder than he had first expected. There was a taller building in front of him, so he looked for a way to climb it. There were these little round things going all around the building, probably to add to the theme of the shop, whatever it was. Okay, so that was a start. The next problem was reaching those without falling. The gap in between the two buildings was large, so he would have to jump and grab on to the little spheres without killing himself.

Mustering all of the courage he could, he took off, bent his legs, and launched himself at the building. He brought his hands up, and grabbed a sphere. The rest of his body slammed against the flat part of the building, causing his grip to slacken, and his stomach to hurt. He pulled himself up a little, seeing a small window above him. How could he get to it?

After a minute of careful thinking, he dug his feet into the flat wall as best as he could manage, and pushed himself up a few more inches. He let go with his left arm and grabbed the window above him. He then quickly did the same with his right hand, getting both hands onto the window sill. He brought his right foot up on the sphere, ascending another two feet. He grabbed the top of the window with his arms, and then put his feet on the bottom part. Finally, he was almost to the top. He reached out with his left arm and grabbed the roof. Following suit with his right arm. He then brought his feet to the top of the window. With a final bit of pulling, he was on the roof.

Terrance was panting and tired, his muscles feeling as if they had been ripped to shreds or dipped in acid. He looked around himself. There was a two story building adjacent to the one he was on, and a large opening in the roof. And something was painted near the opening. Something familiar.

The symbol!

Terrance landed onto the smaller building in a similar fashion as the last, ending with him in pain for a moment. He stood up and looked down into the darkness of the opening. What if no one was home, or if they were sleeping? This was crazy...

He got into a hanging position, and let go, expecting his fall to be a short one. No such luck. He dropped to the very bottom of the building, landing several times harder than before. He grunted and rolled around in pain for a few moments, his legs throbbing. He probably should have broken something, but it did not hurt enough. Someone up there still liked Terrance Miles.

The young man stood up after recovering from his intial shock, his legs still sore. He looked up. There was a torch burning brightly. A doorway revealed itself by the torch, so Terrance went through unsurely. There was a desk at the end of the second room, and several book shelves loaded with books along the walls. Behind the desk were several different maps, all in America. A man sat at the desk, looking straight at him.

"I..." Terrance began, formulating what he would say, "I figured out I was to be apart of some 'Brotherhood'. I saw the symbol painted on the roof. Is this a hideout by chance?" he asked.

"Yes. But I find it hard to believe you are an assassin, after hearing all the noise you made upon entering." the man said cooly.

"I'm sorry about that. You see, not long ago my father was shot by a British soldier. He told me to find a chest under his bed, and I found this letter telling me my family was full of assassins. It also gave me all the weapons and clothing I'm wearing. I'm actually very new at this, and I came here seeking answers, you see. Long story short, what should I be doing?" Terrance inquired in an almost timid voice.

The man before him was older. Older than his dad, at least by ten years. The man had a balding head, and a small mustache and beard, both of which were gray. His skin was wrinkled and full of skin cancers. He obviously was a working man. Perhaps a former assassin?

"I see. Mary, mother of God... I am left with a new killer." he muttered, probably to himself, "Well then, let me fill you in on some things. You obviously know that rebellion is on the horizon, correct? Seeing as how your father was shot, I'd assume he was fighting over at Lexington?" he suggested.

"Yes sir."

"Well, then, you know that. Parliament has gone corrupt when it comes to their colonies. They see us living here as slaves, meant to give them more, without having a say. And so with shots fired, that means war is inevitable. The assassins must aid the colonies in their fight when it comes to war. And I don't mean joining their ranks and fighting in battle, or randomly diving in and attacking large numbers of soldiers. This will be the end of you, if that is the case."

"Wait, there are other assassins?" Terrance asked, his eyes lighting up. Maybe that was a good sign.

"Maybe," he mumbled, "I don't know. One has not visited me in over ten years. They could just be in hiding, waiting to come out. Or you could be the last one left. Who knows?" He answered, sounding almost mad.

Terrance swallowed a lump in his throat.

"But continuing to answer your question - we must aid the colonists in their fight for freedom. Loyalist or patriot, they must be spared. Kill only British military when needed. Which brings me to the Creed. There are three simple rules that must be followed. First, stay your blade from the flesh of an innocent. Second of all, be discreet. Don't jump into the middle of hundreds of soldiers and start slaughtering them without good reason. This could put a massive bounty on your head, and raise soldier's suspicion. This will hurt you in the long run. Finally, the most important rule; do not compromise the brotherhood. If you need to hide here, do not bring the enemy within, because that puts me in danger. If you work with anyone, don't put them in a position where they could easily die. Do you understand?" he informed him, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes sir, I do understand. Who should I go after, first?" the younger of the two asked.

"Well, I do not know if you have taken another human life. Whether you have or have not, I was not there to see it. Starting tomorrow, I want you to go out into the city. The soldiers have returned from Lexington and Concord, and they will set up camp for awhile. I want you to kill a Lieutenant. He goes by the name of Leo Sanders. Go out amongst the people, and find out as much about him as you possibly can. Return to me, and I will give you leave to kill him. In the mean time, you can rest here. I have a few rooms available." he told him, shuffling through some papers on his desk, writing something on one.

"I will do this," Terrance agreed with a nod.


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: Terror From the Woods**

Terrance nestled down into a room, the bed's mattress hard and uncomfortable. He was lying awake, thinking for a while. Thinking of how his father had been stabbed right in front of him. Thinking of how crazy this was. Even though he had been taught that war and killing were two awful things, was he wrong to be excited about his first mission as an assassin?

He slept a light sleep, waking up at the slightest noise. He woke up early the next morning, tired and sore from climbing. He sat up and rubbed his eyes, getting the sleep out of them. He rolled out of bed and dressed into the strange garments he had been wearing yesterday. He yawned and stretched himself out, entering the same office as earlier in time to find the old man, writing something down on a sheet of paper.

"I'm awake." he announced in a quiet voice.

"Good. I thought you would never wake up," the man retorted, snorting a little.

_I doubt the sun has even risen, old man. _He thought to himself in a snobbish tone.

"Now that you are awake, you may head out. Remember what I told you yesterday, and I have a bit more. Go out into the town. See if you can listen in on any conversation that may tell something about Leo Sanders. Interrogate anyone who could be connected or know anything. Do whatever it is necessary, as long as you accomplish something, and keep discreet." he briefed him, "And you may call me the "Rafi""

"Yes, Rafi, I will do this," he agreed, turning to leave.

"Be careful. Come back when you have enough information, and I will allow you to take his life." he called after Terrance.

Terrance left the room and came back out into the entrance. There was the same hole as earlier, only there was no ladder or anything of the sort. There were just the seams in the wall where different sections had been connected. Damn, they were making this difficult on purpose.

Terrance grabbed the nearest seam, his hands barely able to dig in. He put his other hand in there securely, and heaved himself up a bit, using his feet on the flat wall to help him in his struggle. He slowly reached his left hand up to the next seam, trying not to fall. He latched on, and pulled a little, buying time for his right hand to join his left on the seam.

He put his feet on the connection area below, and stood up some more. With the help of his feet, it would be easier. He climbed out after a minute of stress.

The sun was barely up in the east, it's new light caused buildings to cast long, dark shadows towards the west. He did not figure many people were up. Now what? Where was he supposed to start? He scanned the scenery around him, trying to find something. Eavesdrop? How was he supposed to do that? Well, listen in of course; but how was he supposed to know if the peoples' conversations of any interest in the first place? And interrogating? He had been in a good many fights as a child, but being a young adult, a decent size, against some soldier, thug, or lord knows what else? He couldn't do it. He'd have to use his weapons.

He stretched his legs out good and jumped to the roof of a nearby building, landing rather nicely considering his inexperience. He peered down into the streets below, seeing no one. He turned and jumped a few more roofs, still looking for something of interest. Two guards were huddled together down at a street corner, whispering quietly. Terrance crept up and listened in for a moment.

"He's mad. That old fool says he shot at someone last night!" one exclaimed.

"No way!" the other said, kind of jokingly.

"I am serious, Bruce! He said the guy just climbed up the wall of an inn. He said it was..."

Even though he wanted to hear more about himself, he decided to sneak off, seeing that particular dialogue would not help him. He ran along a few more buildings, more people waking up and heading outside by the minute. An old man spotted him making a jump over a small street, telling his neighbor how 'crazy that man was'.

Terrance found and ladder and climbed back onto the ground, deciding it was best not to draw attention to himself by jumping on buildings. Some people gave him strange faces as he passed, pointing and whispering. Some looked a bit nervous, and others amused. He tried to just ignore them, even when a burly sailor purposely bumped shoulders rather hard - almost knocking him on his butt.

He checked down by the docks. Finally, someone of interest caught his eyes. A British officer was discussing something with a lower rank.

"...Leo will need to do guard shift." the lower rank muttered quietly.

"Why, is there something wrong?" the officer questioned in a concerned voice.

"Yes. Corporal Darwin was supposed to be there on that location, but he got sick this morning. Lieutenant Sanders was next in line." the lower ranker continued to tell him.

"Well, thanks for shedding some light on that. I'll make sure the Colonel knows. He's keeping track of all the shifts." he decided aloud.

"Alright. Goo- wait! Where is the colonel? I haven't seen him since we were marching through that little town when those scumbags got in our way. Is he still at camp?" he asked.

"No, no. He is in the office of 'Boston Gazette' lately. Nice folks, true loyalists, let him keep track of shifts and such there." he answered.

"Alright. Good talking to you, sir." the younger one said, turning and walking away.

"See you, mate. And thanks for the information!" he called back.

"Alright!"

So that was helpful. Terrance remembered seeing the Boston Gazette building somewhere around here a year ago. He looked around for a bit before finding a small two story, square building. It was not complex, just a front and back door, and a few windows in some places. He almost walked in the front door, but he figured by the way he look, he wouldn't make it far. The people working there would probably be too suspicious to just let some well-armed, hooded man just waltz on in to talk to the lieutenant.

He peered inside. There was a young man at the front of the room, but he had his face buried in a book. Terrance took the opportunity to climb the building, the windows' sills just perfect for climbing. He was on the roof in seconds.

"What are you doing?" a teenager yelled as he walked by.

"He'll hurt himself," a lady mumbled to her husband in annoyance.

Once again, the young assassin ignored them and looked for an entrance. There was a rather large chimney. He did not remember seeing a fire place on the bottom floor, either. That was a good sign it would land him on the top floor if he climbed down. If not, he could probably manage to crawl back with only minor difficulty.

He did not see smoke, but he peered down into the blackness, checking anyways. Seeing nothing but a little dim light flooding in at the bottom, he decided to crawl down.

As he began his decent, a passer by muttered, "Idiot" to himself, looking up at the odd scene from the corner of his eye.

Terrance pressed his back against the wall, and shoved his feet up onto the other end. He carefully brought a foot down, dug in, and slid his back down a little. He did the same with the other foot, and then the first again. He held his breath as he lowered himself foot by foot, trying not to sneeze or cough. His eyes watered in an annoyingly.

He finally reached the bottom. He had acquired a large amount of suite all over himself, but it was not as much as he had expected. He eased himself onto the ground, and crouched, looking around. He was in a cramped room full of books and a few comfortable-looking chairs. He left the fire place, scattering some dust and ash on the carpet his feet were on.

He found a grand wooden door, much too big for the small room, and turned the golden knob slowly, creating a little slit to peer it. He saw a book shelf. He opened a little more and saw the corner of a desk. A little bit more, and he saw a strong-looking man sitting at the desk, looking at a map spread out. He was frowning, and concentrating deeply. He ran his pointer finger up and down his chin, thinking harder.

Terrance kept low. He entered the room, carefully shutting the door behind himself, keeping a close watch on the colonel. He got down even lower and crawled silently over to a potted plant, using it as temporary cover. The colonel did not look up. He did not even notice him. He was now tapping his fingers on the desk, deep in thought.

Terrance positioned himself behind the large man, and stood back up. He could hear the noises outside rather well. And it also occurred to him his hidden blade would make a lot of noise if he just pulled it out right now. He waited patiently until a loud group of screeching little girls being chased by an ugly boy ran by.

He squeezed his right palm while the noise was loudest. _CLICK!_

It seemed like an explosion going off. Even though it _clicked! _like last time, he was so self-conscious it seemed the blade snapping out was much louder than last time. His heart skipped a beat. He squinted his eyes, standing perfectly still as he waited for certain death. He even stopped breathing. His heart beating seemed louder. Could the man perhaps hear that, too?

But no, the colonel just sat that, marking something on the map with feather and ink. Terrance let out a tiny, not audible sigh, and took a step forward, being as quiet as possible. He was looming over the man like a cloud of death. In one fast move, he wrapped a hand over his mouth and put the blade's tip on the back of the colonel's neck, ready to take him out at any second.

"Are you a the colonel in charge of the watch shifts?" he whispered urgently.

The man hesitated, but then slowly nodded.

"Good. Inform me where Lieutenant Leo Sanders will be set up. If you lie I'll stab you. If you tell the truth, I let you live," he warned him gravely, still whispering in a raspy voice, his heart pounding, "I can tell when people like you lie," he lied, adding probably some extra intimidation.

The colonel reached over the map, which turned out to be on the outskirts of Boston. Terrance could see all the locations of tents and everything. Little dots with names written by them revealed people's guard duties. The man's finger pointed to one at the far north, by a storage tent.

"Are you sure? Because, remember, I have the blade here." Terrance muttered, raising his voice just a little, pressing the blade in a bit harder, drawing a tad bit of blood.

The man nodded, now trembling.

Oh no. Terrance had planned to kill him. But the man was frightened. He was like a normal human. He couldn't do this.

No, this man had probably helped train the dirt-wad who had helped kill his dad. He was going to do this. He drove the blade into the back of the man's neck roughly, sending blood all down the man's back. He gagged and lightly struggled, before calming down.

"Sorry," Terrance whisper, yanking the blade out of his neck, which was now coated in crimson blood.

He ripped a piece of the colonel's shirt off, and cleaned his blade. He looked down at the map for one more brief time, spotting where Sanders would be. Watch shifts were usually at night, but he would set up camp by the shift and murder him when he came, just to be sure.

He left the building quietly, and traveled back up the chimney the opposite of how he had come down. He crawled out and the stop, coughing rather hard. He also felt sick, killing that man as helpless as he was.

He flagged the thought away and made his way back to the hide out. When he made it, he did not blindy jump in as he had before. Instead, he cautiously lowered himself over, using the seams to make his way down to the floor. His feet landed silently, and he felt much more confident and exeperienced than he had before.

In the office, the old man was leaning back waiting, his arms crossed over his chest. Did he ever get up and go outside once in awhile?

"I have done as you have asked. I found out all I will need. I can go kill Leo Sanders-"

"With my permission," the man interrupted, "Now what did you learn, boy?"

Terrance frowned mentally at the 'boy' part, continuing anyways, "I have found that he will be covering for someone on their guard shift at the army's camp. I acquired his location, and can kill him when he comes out. I will sneak back through the Northern woods and come back to the city as if nothing had ever happened, and return to you." he said, enlightening him with is blade which he figured was solid enough.

"Alright, it will work. Let us hope you can do this as easily as you have formulated the plan. I give you leave to go. Take a feather, and wipe it in the blood of your enemy once he is slain. Show it to me on your return." he instructed, still sounding grumpy.

"Yes sir, I will do it"

The Rafi took out a feather and handed it to Terrance. The assassin left, exiting the hideout the way he had came.

---

Night took it's place in the sky. Clouds were on the horizon; probably more snow. At the edge of a British camp, where few tents and makeshift shacks were, a single man took his place. He Was tall and wiry, with a rather long nose and a frown dug into his face. He scanned the surrounding woods.

In all of his experience, Lieutenant Leo Sanders knew the first hour of guard duty made you a bit nervous. It still did. Really, Private McCormick was supposed to be filling in for the sick corporal, but he decided to, instead. What harm could be done? Some leaves crunched in the near by woods. Probably a curious or stupid deer, maybe a squirrel.

_Crunch._

Twice?

_Crunch._

That's odd, it seemed to be getting closer. It must have been a _very _stupid deer.

_Crunch!_

That seems almost...

_Crunch..._

Human!

_Crunch! crunchcrunchcrunchcrunch!_

_Click!_

Leo raised his gun as a figure dashed out of the woods towards him. He was far too slow. A hooded man slammed into him, knocking him clear on his back. A blade was put to his throat. He saw eyes looking down at him.

"Die."

He felt a cold blade plunge down into his throat, causing a sharp pain to overcome him. His tried to breath, but nothing happened. He gagged, trying to yell. The blade was pulled slowly out. Air rushed down into the open wound, making it sting worse. He gagged and choked once more, rolling over, looking and the figure who still gazed down at him. The world began to sway. His vision was getting blurry. Everything was going all wrong. A feather brushed against his wound. It tickled. He could still feel something good as he died. He tried to laugh, but nothing happened.

He was really light. He was...

dead.

---

"Ah, you have returned. That took you long. And no alarm has been raised, yet. What news?" the Rafi asked Terrance as he entered the room.

"I've killed him," he told him quietly, pulling out a bloody feather from his pocket. The red glinted in the candle light of the office.

The Rafi smiled for the first time, "Good job. We may make a good assassin out of you yet, boy. Tell me, what is your name?" he asked.

"My name is Terrance Miles."

His eyes lit up, "Miles? Hm, I knew a man a while back by the name of Darren Miles. Perhaps he was your grandfather?" he asked, pushing aside the many papers on his desk.

Terrance nodded quickly, "Yes, sir. My father was never one, but his dad had left us all a note, explaining that we were supposed to be assassins. That is how I came here after my dad's death. I came seeking revenge." he told him truthfully, relaxing a bit.

"I see. Beware of revenge. It can lead to blind rage, which is a terrible path to go down. To be an assassin, you must work for the good of others. Not petty vengeance, however great the tragedy. I assume you know the locations of other Bureaus?" he warned.

"I do; it's here in my letter my grandfather left me. I must get back to my horse, Amber. I probably owe a price on her now. I will make way to the nearest hide out - er, Bureau as you call it. I will return soon."

"Very well."

* * *

**A/N: **Well, Terrance killed his first guy. So there's no question - it was not very important. The Rafi just wanted to test him and see if he was good enough. Anyways, Next stop Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6: Waking Up**

The sky grew a tad lighter in the east. Across the horizon, it was a lighter blue. Only a handful of early risers were awake. The air was very cold. A brisk wind whistled through tree leaves, chilling anyone outside to the very bone. A light frost covered the morning grass, just barely visible in the pale light of dawn. All was quiet, up until hoof-beating came on the scene. A solitary man was riding a brown horse down an old dirt road, empty fields to his right and left. His eyes were baggy and heavy, and he wanted nothing more than to sleep. The galloping of the moving horse and the cold air were the things keeping him awake. He had stayed up all night riding.

Still, Terrance Miles decided he was much to far from his destination. As the sun began to rise, turning the east pink, orange, and red, Terrance found a hill by the road. A section was dug out, probably by too many mud slides in too much rain. It offered some protection from the wind, so the assassin settled down and ate a bit of bread from his mom's rations. He had his horse tied to a tree by him. He drifted into an uneasy sleep, worried someone might try to rob him.

---

He awoke around noon, to his great misfortune. He groaned and stood up, stretching his entire body out real well. Amber was okay; she was grazing on nearby grass. Terrance untied her and rode off quickly, trying hard to make up for lost time. He passed a few people on the way to Philadelphia, most driving wagons loaded with supplies or trading goods with them. Others were just lone men on horses, like Terrance.

An hour later, he started to pass more farms and small clusters of houses, and then in no time, he was at Philadelphia. He found some public stables, and paid to keep his horse there for a week. That would give him time to do his job.

He walked down a dirt road into a cobblestone street surrounded by buildings, most two stories high and close together. People were moving past him, most carrying goods and supplies. Terrance pulled down his hood to look a bit less suspicious (a lot of people were looking at him), and just moved with the many crowds.

He came upon a plain, square building, that was neither a house nor shop. The door appeared to be locked, and the roof seemed flat. But there was no ladder. Terrance decided he'd climb to the roof an check it out. It reminded him of the last Bureau.

He climbed up a square window relatively near to the ground, and stood on the top of it. He grabbed a rough brick, and pulled himself up enough to grab a worn down patch of wall, which let him pull himself up to another window. He climbed that one, and then put his hands up on the edge of the roof, and pulled himself up. Sure enough, there was the entrance to a Bureau.

"He's insane. I hope he falls, that way he'll learn a lesson or two," an old man was saying aloud. Several people had stopped their errands and conversations, looking up at Terrance now.

He ignored them all and climbed down into the darkness, and went through a door into a cramped room, with bookshelves overflowing, maps hung everywhere, and a replica of Philadelphia on a table. A man was in the corner sitting at a desk, looking at some papers. He was probably in his thirties, although he had some young features. His hair was long and dark, and in a ponytail. He looked up at Terrance.

"Who're you?" he asked, setting down a piece of parchment he had been inspecting moments before.

"I am Terrance Miles, a new assassin. I was told to come to this Bureau by the Rafi in Boston." he answered smoothly, although he was a bit nervous, really.

"A new assassin? That's good. I assume you've been trained?" he said in a more casual tone.

"A little bit. I can climb alright, shoot accurately, and I've taken lives before. I figure I can be of service somehow." Terrance said quickly.

"No, you will not help," he snapped quite suddenly, "The skills you have are not sufficient. You must be a master of climbing, you must never miss a shot, you must swing a blade without mercy, and you must be very stealthy. You would make an average enlisted foot soldier in an army. If you really wish to help, I will train you to be better at our ways," he said in a tone that seemed to be full of anger.

Terrance was surprised, "I... Can you train me to be better?"

"That's what I just said, yes," he said in a more calm tone, "Tonight, we will go on the roof, and I will begin your training. In the meantime, get some rest." he said, beckoning Terrance to a door across from the desk.

"Yes, Rafi."

---

"Get up, hurry!" the Rafi exclaimed, busting open the door to Terrance's room.

Terrance groaned and sat up, rubbing his eyes. He was having a really good dream where he could fly. Oh well; he stood up and got dressed. He left his room and climbed to the roof rather slowly, where the Rafi was waiting, dressed in clothes similar to Terrance's.

_Where's the fire? _Terrance though sarcastically before the Rafi started to speak.

"That took far too long. You must learn to be faster than that. Oh well, I'm not on climbing just yet. Take out your sword, I want to see how you are in that." he ordered, drawing his own cutlass.

Terrance drew his sword, and brought it down by his side.

"Defend yourself!" the Rafi cried, lunging at him unexpectedly.

Terrance cried and jumped out of the way, just as his teacher's blade whizzed by. He swung his weapon a bit clumsily, and in just a flick of his sword, the Rafi knocked it back, causing sparks to fly.

"Is that all you have?" he said mockingly.

Terrance grunted and tried to stab him, but the Rafi just stepped to the side and swung very hard horizontally, causing Terrance to duck very fast. He tried to swing his already outstretched sword at the Rafi's ankles, but he merely jumped back.

Terrance stood and swung a bit harder vertically, but met only the blunt edge of his teacher's blade. The Rafi stepped away, looking as if this were not a fight, but a very boring game.

Terrance frowned and hacked at his opponent several times, meeting only his teacher's blade or air each time. The Rafi swung at him, making him jump backwards, which then caused him to fall onto his bottom. He rolled to the side just in time to avoid the other blade. He jumped up, and crouched down, ready for more.

"I'm glad I decided to train you. You are terrible, in fact." he said, flicking his sword a few times.

Terrance cried out and lunged at him, missing by inches. He swung again, and his teacher simply parried his attack. Why wouldn't any of his swings make contact with the Rafi? He missed or was blocked every time!

He swung again vertically, and the rafi brought his sword up, blocking the attack. Then, in the blink of an eye, he shot out his foot in a vicious kick, sending Terrance sprawling, almost over the edge of the Bureau.

"Terrible, boy!" he said nonchalantly, "I almost fell asleep. Let me begin teaching you some of my skills, now that I know what I'm dealing with. We'll start with - oh, come now, hurry and get up! - where were we... yes, we'll start with blocking, or parrying. That way you don't have to jump around everywhere if you're in tight quarters," he said, motioning Terrance to stand a few feet away from him.

"I can block okay!" he protested.

"I'm sure you can't. Anyways, you must crouch low - like so - and raise your blade in front of you, like this. Keep it at a slightly slanted yet horizontal angle, that way you can move it faster," he instructed, demonstrating, "once in that position, you must watch your enemy's sword very carefully. Shadow it with your own sword, and hit it. Just try and knock it away, you don't want to complicate this move too much," he said, showing him how it was done.

"Alright," Terrance said, getting into the same position.

"Here we go. Watch my blade carefully," he ordered, waiting just a moment.

As soon as Terrance was ready, the Rafi lashed out suddenly with his blade, aiming for his chest. Terrace swung hard and blindly with his weapon, hoping his sword would meet it's mark. He knocked it down, and the Rafi merely imitated stabbing his stomach.

"No, you must knock it away!" he barked, "And watch it, too. You closed your eyes on that one!"

---

Three days later, Terrance was in a little kitchen, drinking a hot cup of tea. He was covered in bruises and small nicks and cuts. His training had been fairly brutal and demanding. He ended up mastering blocking, and then he moved on to climbing. He was told to climb different stores and houses all night long, each one varying, offering different methods of climbing. Then that next morning, before he could even get two hours of sleep, he was instructed to scale a church and climb it's steeple, which proved to be very hard. And then he had to _jump off_ to get down, into a pile of hay in a cart (he nearly broke his neck in the process).

Then he went on to learn several more sword moves, and different techniques for his hidden blades. He practiced throwing his knives, and then went out into the country side and worked on his shooting and horseback riding (he showed off with riding a horse, and they quit that early). He practiced shooting a gun on the horse, and worked on building a makeshift shelter in the woods, and then learned to break it apart and cover it up. Then he came back, and reviewed on his climbing skills (he jumped off a few more towers in the process), and then reviewed his fighting skills. He had improved a lot over the past three days. The cost was sleep. He felt so tired at the moment, he might have just fallen asleep. He finished his tea and stood up, stretching out a bit.

The Rafi strolled into the kitchen moments later, back straight, chin up, and looking as if the past three days had never happened. His sword was attached to his side, and he obviously had something to say.

"I have a mission for you. Your skills will now be put to the test. The Forloon's mansion on the outskirts of town has been targeted. Militiamen are going to storm the place. The Forloons are big loyalists, yet innocent. I want you to defend the mansion and warn them," he said casually.

"Wait, why am I defending them if they're loyalists?" Terrance asked, his eyebrows raised.

"I said they're innocent. They like to live peaceful lives, although they have donated to the British army. A force of about fifty colonists are planning on attacking it. Do you know how bad that would make their own cause look? Busting into a peaceful, peace-lovers' house, killing them and raping Mr. Forloon's daughter and wife, likely? That would make them look like common filth! No one would want to support them!" he explained in a more grave tone.

Terrance thought this through, "I see; I will help fight off the militia, if it will help."

"Good!" the rafi said, smiling now, "Go and find their house, and warn them. They have a few guards that can assist you in the fight."

---

The house wasn't too hard to find, being on the Northern part of town, surrounded by woods. Terrance had warned Mr. Forloon, and discovered there would be five guards, and three able servants to help him. The servants and guards took up places with their guns and swords. Terrance took up a place on the mansion's roof, looking all around. Night was falling fast.

"See anything?" he called down to the guards as quietly as possible.

The oldest looked up, "Nothing ye-"

_Bam!_

A sudden shot rang out, smashing one of the windows by the front door. Another shot followed. Several things were moving feverishly through the woods, shooting at the house. The guards and servants returned fire. In no time, it was an all-out shootout. Already a servant had been shot in the head, falling over lifelessly.

Terrance pulled out his pistol, and aimed it into the woods. He saw the flash of a musket, and fired at it swiftly. A scream came in response. A second later, before Terrance could reload, several men sprang out of the woods, firing as they went. When they reached the gates, they dropped their guns and drew swords, and busted in.

Terrance climbed down from the roof, and drew his sword. He ran into one man's path and hacked him down, blood flying wildly into the air. He snapped around and stabbed another in the mid-section, causing the man to yelp and slide off of the blade, struggling against something that wasn't there. Terrance stabbed him one more time in the head, ending the man's misery.

The guards and servants were now using their swords, battling desperately against the swelling numbers of the militia. Terrance dived into a small cluster of enemies being fended off by a lone guard, and slashed and hacked madly. A blade flew by his side. Another went over his head. Terrance tried to focus on what he did while he fought, but it was hard. A blade lashed out for his stomach. Terrance managed to knock it away just in time.

He stabbed one man, and cut another in the arm, ducking afterwards to avoid a deadly sabre. He blocked a few attacks and jumped from another. He cut the nearest throat open, and smacked another militiaman in the head, sending blood everywhere. The man crumpled over; dead. The fight raged on.

Soon Terrance had killed that group he had been fighting, and he turned to fight another. In an hour's time, the fight was over. The remaining militiamen had fled the scene, most of their numbers dead or wounded. Bodies littered the area. Two servants had died, and four guards did not make it. After a moment of silence, the front door to the house was flung open. A short, plump, distressed-looking man ran out, looking over the scene.

"My God! They're all dead! Bloody hell, are you all all right?" he asked the remaining three.

"Yes," Terrance replied weakly, wiping off his bloody sword.

"Ron!" Mr. Forloon cried quite suddenly, dashing over and kneeling down by the oldest guard who had been killed near the end of the fight, "Ron, no! You could not've died... You there, how did you know we were going to be attacked?" he asked suddenly, facing Terrance.

"I was tipped off," he lied, "And came to warn you all. Looks like it was worth it."

Mr. Forloon gave one final sad look at the fallen guard, and straightened up," I thank you for your service. The outcome could have been much worse. We'll have to clean this mess up, soon. In the mean time, would you like to join us for a late meal? We delayed it for 'special circumstances'."

---

Terrance munched on his steak quietly. It was very well done, yet it was hard eating after killing those people and seeing all that blood. The Forloons were a family of five. Mr. Forloon, his wife, their two daughters, and youngest son. The youngest son was pointing a musket at him...

"Hey!" Mr. Forloon cried.

Terrance looked over, and saw he was a street merchant. They were outside. No, there were tents everywhere. Mom?

Things were starting to blur and fizzle. Nameless, unidentifiable people were walking past Terrance, who was now standing. What to think? He punched one, and they turned into a British officer, and shot at him. The bullet went through Terrance.

"Get him out, his heart rate is way up!" a woman cried.

"I'm trying I'm trying!" a man responded rashly.

The sky turned purple. Soldiers were storming at Terrance. He tried to draw his sword, but it was not there. He merely started to punch them.

"Get him out!" the woman screeched.

"Hold on! Part of his mind is trying to stay in the machine, while the other is 'over-heating'! I can't just zap him out in this state, that can cause mental damage!"

"Hurry!" she said anyway, obviously desperate.

Terrance continued to punch the British soldiers. A man in a horse rode up to him. Then Terrance was flying, flying high into the sky. It was like a dream. A second later, there was nothing. Just an empty, blank space that he stood in.

"He's stabilizing! Pulling him out now!" the man's voice spoke.

Terrance blinked, and suddenly he found himself lying down, looking up at a dull, gray ceiling.

"What's your name?" a red head woman asked him nervously.

Come to think of it, he wasn't quite sure, "Um... Er... I think it's probably Harry or something like that..." he guessed.

"Oh crap, this is bad. Okay, what is my name?" she asked.

Oh! He probably knew this one, "Jam... James - No, Jamie?"

"Yes!" she said, smiling now, "Now what is your name, again?"

It all came back to him, "OH! I'm Archie! Archie Miles!" he exclaimed happily.

"That's correct, Archie. What year is -"

"Two-thousand and nine, yeah, yeah, I know now! You don't have to keep prodding at me!" he answered, sitting up.

He climbed off of the machine, looking around. They were in a small office space in an apartment. Off to Archie's left, there was a door leading to a bed room, and to his right, the kitchen, living room, and another sleeping space.

"How long was I in there?" Archie asked, sitting back down on the machine he had been on.

"Oh, about a week," a man said, sitting up from a computer. He was middle-aged, with brown hair just starting to grey. He was covered in scars, and looked very muscular. He did a lot of fighting before he started working with computers and technology.

"A week?" Archie exclaimed, "Crap! Did I get any skills?" he asked.

"Probably only a little. You can probably just decently use a sword, though I highly doubt you can climb a building just yet. We'll need to keep you in a bit longer, that way you can really get the full effect. You can rest for a while, and then we'll have another go," he said, pacing around the room, glancing over at Jamie and Archie every once in a while as he spoke.

"Ah, okay. I better start getting skills a bit faster than this, though," Archie said, walking into the living room and lying down on the couch. He was tired.

He noticed he looked similar to his ancestor. He had slightly tan skin, a long nose, and eyes like a hawk. His brother Desmond looked a lot like him, although Desmond had run off from the family farm a while back. Archie had come here for training. They were using a brand new machine copied from their enemies. They would look into the past into an ancestor's memory, and let Archie follow in his footsteps as he learned to be a true assassin. Then he could get out in real time and fight.

He was asleep in no time.


End file.
